


Small Talk

by writeskatelive



Category: Figure Skating - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Friendship, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeskatelive/pseuds/writeskatelive
Summary: Isn't it strange that you used to know me?All the highs and lows and in-betweensAnd now you see me and just say, "Hey"- Katy PerryA short drabble about Ksenia and Fedor's first meeting since splitting up as skating partners.
Relationships: Ksenia Stolbova and Fedor Klimov
Kudos: 1





	Small Talk

September 2020. Third stage of the Russian Cup, Sochi. 30 minutes before the pairs' short program.

Ksenia was nervous. But she had a dang good reason to be nervous. The last time she’d seen Andrei, his forehead was pressed against the door of a storage closet and his hands had been shaking so hard she didn’t know how he was possibly going to lift her. When she had first seen him in that YouTube video a year and a half ago and called him up for a tryout, she’d had no clue that he had such terrible stage fright. He was doing marginally better than he had been at last year's Rostelecom Cup – he hadn’t puked yet – but she still felt very uneasy about getting launched ten feet in the air by a man who seemed scared of his own shadow.

Whenever she felt certain that Andrei was doomed, she would find Nikolai and vent until he distracted her with kisses. But this weekend, she was not the only lady in Nikolai’s life. He was here to coach his daughter Annabelle and her partner, who were competing in the ice dance event. As invested as he was in Ksenia’s success, she could never be his own flesh and blood.

And then there was Fedor.

She had not even allowed herself to think of his name until today. Every time she had seen a photo of them together, she had quickly scrolled past before she could look at his face. It was too fresh, too painful, and too complicated.

Nina Mozer had started sending him to small competitions to take care of the younger pairs. The old woman's health had been failing her for a few years now, so the assistant coaches were doing most of the traveling now. They were like her little minions, she thought with a snicker.

Why, out of all the people she'd have to face in the skating world, did it have to be Fedor? She could've easily walked past levelheaded, polite Vladislav Zhovnirski without a word and without any painful memories. She could've bumped into Nina Mozer herself and kept running, never looking back at that piece of the past. Even Max Trankov, who had never liked her and no doubt threw a party after she had left the Mozer rink, would've been tolerable. But Fedor was different. Fedor had skated at her side for nine years. Fedor had launched her into the air for that throw triple salchow that won them an Olympic silver medal. Fedor had comforted her after the dozens of disappointments they'd had in their career. And Fedor had looked at her with those soft, pained eyes and told her he was going to retire, leaving her without a partner.

Ksenia kicked her calf with her other foot in frustration. She was being ridiculous. He was just another scrap of the life she had left behind when she'd moved out to Perm, another shard of the glass cage she had punched. But sometimes, the sharp edge of the glass still pierced her heart.

Right now, she just needed to focus on the short program ahead of her. It was a small competition – the third stage of the Russian Cup series in Sochi. Last season had gotten off on the wrong foot and ended abruptly when Andrei injured his leg, so this year they were starting from zero. Deep inside, she had a feeling that her best days were over, that they were not skating for World medals, that they were not capable of achieving that glorious success she'd had with Fedor. But she couldn't walk out of the sport without giving it one last shot.

She unzipped her jacket and marked her territory at the mirror backstage. She checked her phone while she stretched, and with that level of multitasking going on, she didn’t even see the figure approaching in the mirror until he coughed.

She startled, nearly losing her balance. He looked as shaken as she felt. He was wearing a black double-breasted jacket, a gray beret, and a cashmere cowl, as if he had gone shopping with Marie-France Dubreuil for his coaching wardrobe. His beard was trimmed close to his face, and his surprised blush lent a hint of color and warmth to his cheeks. Standing in front of him in her plain black training gear with her hair pulled back in a collection of rubber bands, she felt underdressed and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” Fedor said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just…I was looking for Karina. You know, the little pair skater…never mind.” He shook his head and took one step back. “Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s fine.” She felt her face getting hot and lowered her eyes. “I think she went to the women’s locker room.”

“Thank you. I could’ve been looking for her for hours.” A smile teased one corner of his mouth. “I’ll just wait for her to come out. Are you here to…never mind, you’re here to compete.” He blushed harder. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m nervous.”

“Did you try some Leningrad?” She heard herself laugh before she even realized it was coming from her own body. Whenever Fedor got nervous before a competition, he’d hide away in the locker room with his favorite music.

He blinked as if the idea had never occurred to him. “No, I haven’t. You…you remember that?”

Now it was her turn to blush. “Yeah, you told me. It was at Europeans years ago. We were standing on that bridge in Budapest.”

Inside, she was kicking herself. Why was she talking to him? She should've been stretching. She should've been putting on her skates and heading out to the ice. She should've been ignoring this distraction. Why, the whole goal of this competition was to ignore him and get the job done.

“Oh yeah, that’s right," he said. "That was a good competition.”

He smiled, and when she raised her eyes to his face, she saw him as he’d looked back then. Younger. More playful. His eyes brighter, still hopeful. When they had first met, before the injuries and the young new pairs and the Olympics that never happened, he had nearly glowed with light. It was still in there, somewhere under his pain and longing. His soul was beautiful, so much softer and gentler than hers, and under her confidence and ambition, she knew she could never deserve him in a thousand lifetimes.

“I saw you out there with Andrei,” he said. “He’s very good.”

“Yeah, he is.” Somehow saying that to Fedor made her feel like a traitor. It was like telling your ex-husband about your amazing new boyfriend. She swallowed. “He’d be better if he wasn’t puking in the bathroom. I mean, I didn't see him do that yet this time, but I'm sure he's gotten around to it by now.”

He shrugged. “Did you tell him to listen to Leningrad?”

Ksenia blinked, and she felt heat rising in her cheeks again. “N—no.”

He swallowed. “Well, I don’t know, but maybe it would help. Just…be patient with him. He’s on your side.”

The warmth in his voice caught her off guard. She couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to her that way – not as an acquaintance from the past, but as a friend. She raised an eyebrow. “Fedor Klimov, are you trying to coach me?”

He gasped and shook his head. “No, of course not! I just…I want to help. I guess I just want to wish you luck.”

His face was so sincere, so innocent, so pure. She felt her throat tying itself into a knot. She had not seen much honesty lately, and it made her want to cry. For a moment, she considered throwing her arms around his shoulders and melting into his embrace.

Instead, she smiled. “Thanks.”

He smiled back at her, softening his features. “If you…if you need anything, just let me know and I’ll…I’ll try to help.”

The locker room door swung open, and a young girl in a black skating dress stepped out. “Sorry I’m late! My hairpins were giving me a horrible time. Buns are hard!”

Fedor turned around, his face bright and invigorated. “It’s all right, Karina. That's why we showed up early – things happen." He checked his watch. "We’ve still got fifteen minutes before the warm-up starts. Did you stretch?"

"Of course!"

"Good, good. Then you're all set. Why don’t you go out and find Max? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay, sounds good!"

Karina started scurrying out of the room, but Fedor held up a hand. "Oh, and don't push too hard in the warm-up. You want to save your perfect triple toe for the actual performance."

"Thanks, I will!"

Ksenia couldn’t help smiling as little Karina darted out. “You know, you’re really good at this coaching thing.”

He shrugged. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. It just makes sense to me. In a way, it's a lot like skating, because you're going to competitions and you're always hoping for the best result. But it's...it's different too. It's stressful, but it's...it's not painful. I don't know how to describe it.”

She sighed. "I think I understand. It's like...it's like you've been running on a treadmill for hours, staring at the wall. And suddenly you start running on a path full of trees. It's still exhausting, but at least now, you're running towards something."

"Exactly!" He held up a finger. "That...that's totally what it feels like." His smile faded, and the enthusiasm slumped out of his body, shrinking his shoulders. "Do you...do you feel that way now? Like skating with me was the treadmill?"

"I..." Ksenia winced. "I feel like skating those last two years of our career was like a treadmill. We kept trying and trying but nothing would change. Now, I'm on a different path, and I don't know where it's leading, but it's new and exciting and I want to try it. But I...I wasn't sick of skating together because I was sick of you. I was just sick of running in place."

He blushed. "Yeah, that's how it felt for me too."

The awkwardness between them was so thick she feared she would choke on it, so she cleared her throat. "Well, at least now you have these cool outfits instead of those stupid striped suits I made you wear for competition."

He reached up to adjust his beret. "I feel ridiculous in this whole getup though. I went to a competition in jeans and a cap, but Eteri Tutberidze told me I should learn to dress like a professional gentleman. Like, she literally walked over to me and told me I needed to change my clothes."

Ksenia's eyes widened as a crazy thought ran through her head. "She didn't make you change them right in front of the whole arena, did she?"

Now he was back to blushing. "No, of course not! She just...she pointed at that Gleikhengauz guy and told me, 'Do you see that young man over there? Look at how finely dressed he is. A professional young gentleman like you should be dressed properly for such a job.'" He shook his head. "And to be honest, she kind of scared me."

"Oh, come on. You skated with me for nine years and you're afraid of a woman with a Louis Vuitton coat and too much Botox?"

He laughed – truly laughed like she hadn't seen him laugh in years. "That's different though! That woman is like New York Fashion Week on steroids!"

The word "steroids" struck Ksenia in the chest, and she started laughing uncontrollably. "Yeah, imagine!" She could barely speak through her laughter. "Breaking news: World Anti-Doping Agency bans Eteri Tutberidze from coaching indefinitely because she tested positive for banned hair products!"

"They don't even have to prove her guilty!" said Fedor, doubling over with hysterics. "They can just say she wasn't...wasn't invited!"

By the time Ksenia recovered, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. There had once been a time when even the mention of what had happened surrounding the 2018 Olympics made her eyes fill and her throat close up with a thousand terrible emotions. But standing there with Fedor at this lame little competition, her heart felt strong and giddy, as if just talking to him had sewn up the gash.

"Ksyusha? Ksyusha, what are you doing, it's time to–" Nikolai Morozov ran into the room, his suit disheveled, two Team Russia jackets draped over his arm, and her tiny backpack slung over his shoulder. "Good God, what's going on?"

Ksenia wiped her cheeks and stumbled back from Fedor. "Nothing. We were just...catching up on old times."

"Oh." Nikolai frowned, his eyes scanning Fedor suspiciously. "Well, the warm-up starts in exactly eight minutes, and Andrei's hiding in the bathroom again."

"He'll come around. Did he have his skates on?"

"Of course he had his skates on. While he was vomiting into a toilet!"

She chuckled. "Well, eight minutes is plenty of time for him to puke, drink some water, and come out for the warm-up. I'll be right out."

Nikolai blinked. Usually, "chill" was the last word anyone would use to describe Ksenia. In fact, if she had found Andrei vomiting a few hours ago, she would've been panicking. But right now, she felt strangely calm. It wasn't like she could make him stop throwing up.

"All right, but don't be too long," said Nikolai. "This is our chance."

He jogged out of the room, and Fedor lowered his eyes. "I should let you get out there. And I should...I should be there with my team."

"Yeah, good idea." She touched his shoulder. "But thank you."

He blinked, then leaned closer and kissed her cheek. His lips barely touched the skin, brushing against her cheekbone like soft feathers. It was over in a single breath, but it made her tremble. It was not a kiss of celebration, like that moment of victory in Sochi when she'd pulled him close in a rush of excitement. It was not a kiss of passion, like the one they had shared at the rooftop bar in Barcelona at the end of that perfect, blissful weekend when everything looked beautiful and delicious. It was not a kiss of parting, like that spring day in New Jersey when she had pressed her trembling lips into his cheek so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. It was a kiss of friendship, a simple expression of happiness.

Ksenia watched him walk out, as he had two and a half years ago. But this time, it did not fill her heart with an overwhelming pain. It did not feel like burying a coffin. He was simply going to do his job, and now it was time for her to do hers.

She grabbed her skates from the floor and ran into the locker room. She had already done her hair and makeup, but there was little time to slip into her new costume, a simple yet glittering white dress that fastened at the neck. She scrambled to lace up her skates and nearly knocked someone over as she hastened out the door. That "someone" was Andrei.

He stumbled aside. "Whoa. Nikolai sent me to go look for you. Are you all right?"

She regained her footing, looked up, and smiled. "Yeah, I'm all right."

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my sweet friend eurolifetrash for reading my spam of crazy little Ksenia and Fedor fics! It's always a joy to fangirl with you. Love you!


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